Live Through This
by Calcifer179
Summary: After Anita "Needy" Lesnicki is sent to the freak wharf for staking her BFF and the town's local succubus Jennifer Check through the heart with a boxcutter, she begins having vivid nightmares and hallucinations. At least...she hopes they're hallucinations.


**A/N: **For me, Jennifer's Body was one of those films that you know is kinda bad but you love it anyway. So I've always enjoyed writing for small fandoms and I've had this idea listing around in my head for way too long. Hope all the few of you enjoy this. This story will feature OCs and can get a little weird. Bare with it. For all you pervs out there; I'd say there's a good chance this'll feature a Needy/Jennifer romance some ways down the tracks. Or it may have no romance at all. Haven't decided yet.

**Ch.1 **

**Doll Parts**

You know that feeling? The one where you want to throw up, cry and pray all at the same time? Yeah, pretty sure I was feeling that.

Leech Lake Correctional Hospital. Not exactly a scenic vacation spot. A large cement building dug halfway down into the earth on the edge of a murky sea of deep green water, and completely surrounded by a chain linked fence topped with razor wire. A lone, thinly winding access road was the only route to or from the structure.

I'd been here for something like two months now -though my sense of time was shot and I couldn't be sure- and I still wasn't used to how god awful the food was. It tasted like acid cardboard reflux that had been soaked in some high grade dishwashing liquid. Plus they didn't give you the right cutlery at all, not even those disposable plastic forks you see at BBQs or Christmas parties, like when your nieces and nephews all come to visit and you don't want your good silverware trashed. Guess they reckoned that even one of those could be too dangerous in the hands of some of their inpatients. Nope. No forks for us. Instead we got these tiny little spork/foon things that break under a half-ounce of pressure. Couldn't even spear a toast'em, which happens to be just about the only edible thing on the menu.

My first night here I had been dragged in with cuffs and undergone the whole procedure. They took down my name; "Needy- _Anita_ Lesnicki." and what had to be the entirety of my school records and family history. There were full body checkups, notes on my height, weight (yeesh), eye colour, hair colour, toenail length and whatnot. Then I was thoroughly chemical showered and deloused, and when I was finally given something to wear in replace of my stripped clothes it had been a faded orange jumpsuit. The only actual item of my own they'd returned were my shoes, minus the laces of course. Now that was grounding. I curled up on my too-small cot behind my security coded cell door and cried myself to sleep.

"Needy," the homely orderly lilted as she stopped next to my seat while making her daily rounds, "You having trouble eating?"

"No." _Yes._

"You really should try an eat more. I've been keeping an eye on you during rec time and you don't seem to have much energy."

I sniffed and kept my eyes locked on an imperfection in the square of plain white linoleum between my legs, a part of my mind still seeing that spiky black goop that had plastered the same stuff in my mother's kitchen. I hated rec time. Almost as much as I hated lunch time, aka; the now. Rows of steel benches and plastic classroom chairs, all filled with overweight or anorexic women -we were all of the extremes here- sipping pink cordial and throwing back their mid day cup of rainbow pills. It smelled like mould, and as much as I was loath to admit this, it probably wasn't the food. Not all of us were so dutiful in our personal hygiene.

"Well, okay then," the orderly sighed, finally leaving me alone, "I'll check up on you later."

I wondered if she would still have tried so hard or been so caring if she knew who I really was and not just seen the broken little girl before her. They didn't tell the orderlies what we did to get in here, and even with a high profile case like mine they had somehow managed to keep it quiet. A few of them suspected though, at least I thought so. They'd shoot me weird glances or hug the walls when they passed me in the halls. It might have been all the fan mail that tipped them off.

You see, the papers had a name for me, and my story was in them and on the news, being discussed on every morning talk show in America, every single day. I was the Demon of Devil's Kettle, only one of the biggest most baddest female serial killers of all time. You're shocked, I know. You wouldn't think it to look at me, that a frail teen like myself was capable of all that brutal death.

Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't. Some days I didn't even know. Could it all have really been how I remembered it? Or was Jennifer's body just that of a normal girl who had been unfortunate enough to have a psycho best friend?

No. I knew it had been real. I wasn't that imaginative. And the scars that marred my own body didn't lie.

"Needy!" A blur of red hair practically bounded over the tabletop and into the empty seat next to mine, "What's the hap, girl? Kill anyone today?"

I shot her a dark, unamused look and she quickly poked her tongue out at me. Always playing.

"I'm just messing with your fucked up little mind. Hey, you gonna eat that toast'em?"

I shook my head, my ponytail of blonde hair swinging lightly across my back.

"Schweet," she drooled, reaching out with her good arm to snatch the pastry off my plate and masticating it in such a manner it would have put Jennifer to shame.

I couldn't help but watch, wide eyed, as she fell back into her chair, folding arm across her stomach, resting her head back and giving me a toothy, satisfied grin.

"_So_ good," she mumbled, spraying me with crumbs.

I wiped a few from my eyelashes, allowing my companion a small smile before rising wordlessly from my seat, pushing it in behind me.

"Where ya goin', Needy?"

"I'm sort of beat," I murmured quietly, turning and making for the cafeteria exit, my shoulders drawn in around me diffidently. "I might hit the sack."

Logan was a nice girl. A borderline sociopath maybe, but still nice, at least to me. It was a surprise when I first saw her; she didn't look anywhere near old enough to be in here. With her pixie-like features and layered hotrod red hair, she wouldn't have looked out of place in an anime. This appearance was a total smoke screen though. She walked with confidence through these halls and held a rep of 'seriously not to be fucked with' among both the orderlies and other inpatients. I had personally witnessed her snap another woman's wrist in three places whilst shouting '_get some!_' just because the chick had beat her in a match of table tennis. Who knew what she'd actually done to get in here, or how she'd lost that arm? I believe Logan honestly belonged on some medieval battlefield, or maybe in a zombie infested wasteland, caving in heads with a machete.

She was the only friend I had here though, if a loose interpretation of the word, and I never liked blowing her off on the days I just wanted to be alone. Company is company and it can count for a lot around this place.

Raymundo the squat, Hispanic counselor let me into my cell and I quickly changed into my hospital gown pajamas and lay down on the cot, gingerly stepping over the growing pile of envelopes in the centre of my floor. There were even more stuffed into my bedside table and scattered over my desk. I had accumulated quite the inventory. Crosses and statues of our lord and saviour were a big thing, and the major theme of most of my letters, so my walls were now fully adorned. God and I still had some issues to work out though, and I don't think anyone really expected me to be born again anytime soon. I got a lot of teddy bears too, for some reason, I expected they were supposed to comforting or something. Those were usually from people who knew -or thought they knew me, at least the old me. Family, friends from school, a few teachers. They both hated and pitied me I guess. My mum had sent me some pictures, though they powers-that-be in this place had made sure the frames had been taken out before letting me have them, and not just for risk of shivs. Cutters were always a problem in this place. You'd see them every now and then, always with fresh bandages around their wrists. The photos were of her, of Chip, even of Jennifer, and I felt obliged to keep them lined up on my windowsill, though I couldn't say I really wanted to see them.

Of course there's a pretty big wig factor with the letters too. A lot of creepy little homemade gifts and cards all a revenue of my growing crowd of admiring fans. Couple of starfucker dudes actually proposed to me, promising to get me away from all this or some shit. Some chester with a hard-on sends me a diamond ring and a dick shot? Of course I'll marry him! Come on, I'm not that insane.

I had even received a few offers from publishing agencies wanting to get the inside scoop, maybe snatch up a novel or movie deal out of the whole thing. I hadn't gone all Son of Sam yet though and so I never replied. I just hoped they hadn't started harassing my mum or the school.

I reached beneath my pillow and pulled out my latest read. Books were one of the few forms of entertainment I had left. As I flicked through the pages to find my spot I idly reached down into my shirt, twisting my fingers around the gold chain that hung about my neck and pulling the twin pendants that now dangled there out into the light.

I could remember every second of it in surround sound and HD Technicolor. The blood splattered golden heart falling to the floor with an almost inaudible _click_, the chain spiraling down after it. And most of all the utter and unconcealed shock on Jennifer's face as she let her hand slip from mine, as she fell back down onto the bed and I finished her life.

_"Best friends forever, huh?"_

I jumped, dropping both the pendants and my book, which fell softly onto the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, clenching my jaw and shaking my head furiously. This wasn't real. I was just a whack job having another one of her whack job freak outs.

_"Yeah, you're probably right." _

I felt the pressure on the mattress as she sat down at the foot of my bed, and I swore I could even smell her familiar angel dust scented soap. Vanilla and floral.

_"But then again, what the fuck do I know, huh? Come on, Monistat, we can both admit that you were always the brainy smurf." _She laughed; the same surprisingly husky laugh that used to always make me smile no matter how depressed I was feeling.

Not real. Not real. Not real. _Not real._

Her fingers brushed down my cheek, removing the small crystals of tears that had formed there.

_"Of course it isn't, baby,"_ she cooed mockingly.

I had lied to Logan before. I hadn't been planning on getting any sleep tonight, or _any_ night as long as I still had a say in the matter. I'm not sure when it started really, if it was before or after they brought me here. Before or after I killed her. I do remember the time though, when I'd closed my eyes only to see her ruthless smile, her perfect body hovering above me, descending from the ceiling, cherry lips opening to reveal an overcrowded maw of needle-like teeth. It had taken the orderlies four hours to calm me down; to console me enough to chill the fuck out, and that was even with all the drugs they had pumped me full of.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I whimpered desperately, finally opening my eyes to see her beautiful face smirking down at me sadistically, "You're dead. I know you are."

Confusion filtered across her features, and for a moment I thought I saw her eyes fill with actual pain. It vanished so fast though I could never be sure. Her fingers began tracing down from my cheek, resting momentarily at the corner of my lips.

_"I'm doll parts...just doll parts,"_ she whispered, almost nonsensically.

Then her hand shot up in a dizzyingly fast movement, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my face up to stop just a few inches from her own as pure agony stabbed through the roots of my skull.

_"But I've got a grip you see?"_ She grinned wickedly, releasing my hair again and letting my head flop back down onto the mattress as I groaned from the pain.

She ran her fingers down my forehead, feather light but threatening.

_"I'm in your __**mind**__."_

She traced her way down to my throat and her eyes flashed as she flicked her nails, letting a few small drops of scarlet before licking the wound.

_"I'm in your __**blood**__."_

She felt down to the chain hanging about my neck, taking the golden pendants and clasping them firmly to my breast, right above my heart.

_"I'm in your __**soul**__, Needy. Don't you see? Best friends forever." _


End file.
